


we'll defy the rules until we die

by soniclipstick (veriscence)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bossy Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Catholic Steve Rogers, Easter, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Some internalised homophobia, apparently me, easter fic, who even writes Easter fic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6400138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriscence/pseuds/soniclipstick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this is what Bucky remains: a sinner in the dark, his only heaven the safe space between Steve’s bony shoulder blades where he can rest his head.</p><p>It takes Steve to show him he's been standing in the light the entire time.</p><p>(Easter, 1938.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll defy the rules until we die

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CallipygianGoldfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallipygianGoldfish/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Both. Both is Good.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6087883) by [soniclipstick (veriscence)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriscence/pseuds/soniclipstick). 



> For CallipygianGoldfish, because I don't know how else to say thank you for the sheep mug. SHEEP! 
> 
> This is technically a prequel coda to my Stuckony story “Both. Both is Good.” But this fic is 100% Stucky, and it can be read as a standalone.  
> 

_So let’s be sinners to be saints, and let’s be winners by mistake_

_The world may disapprove, but my world is only you_

_And if we’re sinners then it feels like heaven to me_

\- Lauren Aquilina, Sinners -

_15 th April, 1938_

Bucky wakes up to a chaste kiss on the forehead and a sudden loss of sleep-warm skin against his side. He blindly reaches out and pulls Steve close until silky strands of hair tickle Bucky’s chin and stubble rubs against his collarbone. “Just where do you think you’re off to?”

“It’s Good Friday, we have a lot to do and we’re going to need the early start,” Steve tells him, attempting to push Bucky away with cool palms on his bare chest. Fat load of good it does, Bucky’s arms are far too strong and tighten their hold on Steve. “Come on, Bucky. We need to get started. Spring cleaning, haircuts, visiting Ma…did you pick up the baking soda yesterday?”

Of all the men and women in New York, Bucky had to fall in love with the most Irish one in New York’s Irish Catholic community. If Steve’d been a woman whom Bucky’d brought home, his own Mama would’ve cried for joy. “ _Yeah_ Stevie, I picked up the baking soda. Got you some old newspapers too. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and rewards him with an unhurried, tantalizing kiss. Bucky basks in it, manoeuvring them until he’s got Steve trapped between his thighs. Steve pinches his inner thigh, _hard._ “Get off of me, you’re on laundry duty.”

-

Bucky grumbles while he scrubs the whites. Steve polishes their Sunday shoes and then hits the dishes from last night.

Later, in between cleaning windows, Steve places newspaper ink stained fingers over Bucky’s hand and kisses his brow. The water’s so cold that Steve’s fingers feel warm in comparison. Bucky pushes him away gently, nodding his head at the open windows.

Anyone could see.

They’ve been making it in this apartment for near on a year now without raising any suspicions. After all, two bachelors living together to save money is nothing new, even if they’re on the apparent tail end of this depression. Steve winces at the break of contact, so Bucky drops the bar of soap into the water and shoves Steve against the wall to kiss him thoroughly, in the shadows and away from any curious eyes.

This won’t last.

He’s never said those words out loud — afraid of the guaranteed heartbroken expression that Steve will sport if he ever did voice his doubts.

But Bucky is not as optimistic as Steve. Yes, this tiny one room apartment is their solace, it’s their little paradise. But it won’t last forever. Some weeks, Bucky’s not sure they’ll make the rent. Sometimes he wonders what he’ll do if they don’t. Bucky’ll have to move back in with his parents, and he’ll drag Steve with him because, well, where else would he go? But how will he ever fall asleep without Steve pressed up next to him, cold toes stuck in between Bucky’s calves and laboured breaths against his skin?

There’s no point in thinking about it. If it happens, it happens. For now, he’ll enjoy what little he can have, find pride in what little he can give Steve. For now, he hangs the laundry, cleans the stovetop and washes his hands. Once they scrub the newspaper ink off of Steve’s hand, Bucky drags him into the chair for a haircut. It ends up mostly even, and then Bucky hands over the scissors and the straight blade over to Steve.

Steve’s got artist’s hands — Bucky’s ‘dos always look neater than Stevie’s. Neither of them have gone to the barber’s since before the Depression, and things are starting to look better, but no one knows how long that will last.

After they’ve washed up, Bucky slices two thick slices of bread, and sets them on the table. They eat it plain, and drink three sips of water. Steve looks pale from exertion, but pleased that Bucky remembered the tradition. They sit on their beat up couch and nap, Bucky resting his head on Steve’s chest, listening to every precious breath.

-

They wait until late evening to visit Aunt Sarah. St. James is full of church-goers walking the Stations of the Cross. They meet Pops, Mama, and Rikki on the way. Rikki spends the rest of the walk telling Bucky what’s new in school and holding Steve’s hand with a blush on her face. Bucky shares knowing looks with Pops and Mama, and winks at Steve. Steve turns redder than Rikki’s face, but listens to Rikki raptly.

The rest of the Barnes family enters the church. Bucky follows Steve to the cemetery. Steve’s standing by the grave by the time Bucky catches up to him. The pink carnation they’d bought yesterday before the stores closed lies near the headstone. Steve might as well be an angel, a vision of wheat-coloured hair and pearly skin against the fading reds and burnt oranges of the sunset.

Bucky waits.

Long after the sun sets and the others have entered the church, Steve touches his fingers to the gravestone and turns around. Steve walks towards Bucky slowly. Salt water has made trails on his cheeks. His breath is hot and uneven on Bucky’s face.

They’re too close.

Bucky takes a step back, aiming to walk towards the cathedral. Small, strong hands reach for his arm, holding him in place in a death grip. Steve’s face begs him, pleads for touch, for comfort. Bucky squeezes once for support before quickly pulling his arm away, all the while hating himself for having to do it. “Let’s go inside, Steve.”

-

Bucky doesn’t know the fourteen Stations half as well as Steve does, so he doesn’t say them out loud as they pass from one painting to the other. Instead, he listens to Steve’s deep voice, first shaky and raw, then firmer as it slowly increases in confidence. Sometimes Bucky wonders if Steve does this out of faith, or for his mother’s memory. Rarer times, Bucky wonders if maybe it’s because Steve thinks if he tries hard enough to be a good, God’ll forgive all the laying with other men. Bucky never asks so he doesn’t know for sure. What Bucky does know is that Steve comes in for confession once a week.

Bucky’s sins are a lot simpler. The biggest one? Idolatry. He loves Steve more than anything and anyone on this world or beyond. And he can’t confess that — not to the priest, not to anyone — because then he’ll have to ask for forgiveness and try to change. He doesn’t think he _can_ change. He certainly doesn’t want to.

So this is what Bucky remains: a sinner in the dark, his only heaven the safe space between bony shoulder blades where he can rest his head.

-

On Saturday evening, they attend the Easter Vigil. When all the lights in the church are turned off at eleven pm, and Rikki’s fighting to stay still at Bucky’s side, Steve wraps his hand around Bucky’s wrist and presses fingers to his pulse. He lets go before the first candle is lit. The believers pass the flame from one to the other. It reaches Steve first. The candle light reflects in Steve’s eyes as he lights Bucky’s candle. There’s a smudge of dirt on Steve’s nose and Bucky wonders if it would be imprudent to wipe it away with his thumb. Rikki tugs at his trousers, and Bucky collects himself. He turns around and lights her candle.

Bucky wonders what if would feel like to kiss Steve surrounded by a thousand lit candles.

-

It’s still dark when they leave the house on Sunday morning for dawn mass. Their clothes are barely dry, but they’re in their Sunday best, handkerchiefs folded neatly in their pockets and everything. No amount of pomade keeps those strands of hair from Steve’s face though Bucky knows better than to help do something about it. Besides, Mama’s going to have a go at that mop of golden hair the moment she catches sight of Steve.

It’s cold for April and Bucky’s already wrangled Steve into Bucky’s wool scarf. They’re walking against a brisk wind. Bucky’s jealous of the way it bites into Steve’s skin and leaves red marks.

Marks such as Bucky’s never dared to leave.  

They’re already late. The sun’s rays are catching up to them, will likely overtake them before they reach the church. They’re taking a shortcut through an alley when Steve stops, turns to look around, and then pushes Bucky up against the wall of a tenement building.

“Kiss me.”

Bucky can’t breathe. He doesn’t see anyone, but he can hear movement on the main street. _“Are you out of your mind?”_ he hisses. 

Steve looks up at him determined eyes and a strong nose, one that is far too big for his face and yet made for it. Scattered rays of sunlight hit Steve, and remind Bucky that they _cannot be seen._  “There’s no one around Bucky, come on. Kiss me.”

He’s being too damn loud.                                              

“Let’s go, we’re late,” Bucky pushes him off gently, looking anywhere but Steve’s face. And he’s a coward; he can’t look at the heartbreak that’s likely adorning Steve’s face right now. But Steve’s asking for things Bucky can’t give him in this lifetime. This is what they have, and what they have is what the world disapproves of, but if Steve keeps pushing they’ll lose what little they have now.

He’s a few steps away, safely back in the shadows, when Steve finally speaks. “For once.” His voice cracks. “For once in our lives, Bucky, won’t you kiss me in the light of day?”

Damn him. Damn Steve and his inability to accept the world as it is. Damn Bucky and his inability to say no to Steve goddamn Rogers.

Steve sees the hesitation and he follows Bucky’s earlier strides, reaching for Bucky’s shoulder with both hands to push him once more against the wall. Steve licks his lips and blows his hair out of his face. He takes one last look around the empty alley and then grabs Bucky by his tie, tugging him down until their mouths meet.

Bucky’s hands come up automatically, one wrapping around Steve’s waist while the other reaches for Steve’s hair, warmed now by the sun.

There’s desire — which Bucky never understands because Bucky’s just another Brooklyn boy, nothing special about him. But Steve’s special, so special one of these days the rest of the world will see it and then call themselves idiots for not seeing it sooner. Yet it’s Bucky who Steve wants like Eve did forbidden fruit.

There’s also defiance there, heaps of desperation, and love. So much love that Bucky is drowning in it. This is his little heaven. This is all he’s ever wanted since he understood what it meant to want someone.

Footsteps from the main road pull them apart. Steve reaches for his own hair, trying to pat down the mess Bucky’s made of it. Bucky stays put, watches Steve in awe. A part of him wants to drop to his knees and worship him right then and there, forget the whole world for a single, glorious moment. The rest of him wants to drop to his knees too, but mainly because the strength to stand is beginning to fail him.

“May God have mercy on our souls,” Bucky mumbles to himself, but Steve hears him anyway. He freezes, brings his hands to his sides and looks at Bucky, thick eyebrows drawn together.

“Is that what you think, Buck? That this is a sin?”

They’ve never talked about this. They’ve loved each other since they knew what love was and kissed each other since they decided kissing wasn’t just a gross thing parents did. They’d made love the first night they’d moved into their apartment and then they’d never stopped, but they’ve never talked about this.

“Stevie—“

“We’re not. I love you. _I love you_ and loving you makes me a better person. How can that be sin? How can loving you be a sin? It’s not. It can’t be. I refuse to accept that it is.” Steve looks at him, so earnest, so sure of himself.

With Steve, Bucky’s honest. With Steve, Bucky remembers to stop by and check on his parents. With Steve, Bucky remembers to buy an extra loaf of bread for old Mr Tanner whose pension barely covers his rent. With Steve, Bucky’s a better man, a better son. Loving Steve isn’t a sin anymore than doing any of those good deeds.

“It’s not,” Bucky says. “It’s not a sin. Loving you is not a sin.”

Steve smiles at him and he’s brighter than any star in the sky, brighter than the sun. Then he grins, sure and teasing. “The only sin in all this is the state of your tie, jerk.”

 Bucky laughs, looking down at his wrinkled tie. “And whose fault is that, ya punk?”

“Mine? Have fun explaining that to your Mama,” Steve calls over his shoulder, making his way once again. “According to her, I’m the very paragon of virtue.”

“And whose virtue would that be?” Bucky demands. “Yours hasn’t been around for over a year, if I’m remembering’ right.”

Steve’s laugh is more beautiful than when the organ comes alive on early Sunday mornings. Bucky follows it out of the alleyway and into the light.  

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on the time period: First of all, Easter Sunday in 1938 was April 17th, how cool is that? I tried my best to research the period but it’s still bound to be riddled with inaccuracies, so apologies. If there is something glaringly wrong with the setting, please let me know in the comments so I can fix it!  
> Notes of Irish Catholicism: I’m a Pentecostal Christian, so a lot of my information came from The Internet. Again, if I’m really wrong about something, please let me know so I can correct it. 
> 
> Title credit goes to the song Sinners by Lauren Aquilina. I had it on repeat for most of writing this.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it!


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